


his golden eyes

by TheDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Anal Fisting, Dark Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Forced Orgasm, M/M, Restraints, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: "Subject 451," Arthur says, looking down at the clipboard in his hands and clicking his pen twice."My name is Merlin!" the subject snarls, lunging upwards.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	his golden eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/2577.html?thread=637201#t637201) Kinks of Camelot prompt.

He's already strapped to the table when Arthur enters the room. The black cuffs around the subject's wrists and ankles, the strap keeping his torso flush with the metal... it all makes for a wonderful contrast to his pale skin. It suits him perfectly, makes him look entirely too appealing.

In any other situation, he would have been exactly the kind of man Arthur went for. Bright, blue eyes framed by thick lashes, skin so pale it was almost porcelain white, a mop of black hair on his head, and a spattering of it down his arms and legs and chest and belly...

Arthur especially appreciates the trail that leads down to his groin.

"Subject 451," he says, looking down at the clipboard in his hands and clicking his pen twice.

"My name is Merlin!" the subject snarls, lunging upwards, only to be brought to a stop by the bindings around his chest and limbs. Arthur doesn't so much as twitch at the movement, entirely assured of his own safety.

"Subject 451," Arthur repeats, not sparing him so much as a glance. He peruses the papers in front of him—various notes the other researchers have made about the subject's physique and behaviour, then adds one of his own.

_Subject recalcitrant_ , he jots down. He clicks the pen again and puts it in the breast pocket of his lab coat, then tosses the clipboard onto a nearby table, where it lands with a thud so loud that it has the subject flinching. With every step that brings Arthur closer to him, the tension in his muscles grows, to the point where they look as though they're about to break through the restraints.

And wouldn't that be something. No one has managed to break out of them in years, not since they developed proper magic neutralising technology. It doesn't matter how powerful he is, how much strength he has—magical _or_ physical. The subject won't be going anywhere.

Not ever again. He'll spend the rest of his life in the facility. He won't live long; they never do.

The subject's eyes carefully follow each and every one of Arthur's movements, observing him as he puts on his gloves, widening in fear when Arthur's fingers glide over the bottle containing the tranquilliser. It's been a while since he last had it used on him, but he obviously hasn't forgotten. The needle marks dotting his skin might be small, but the bruises below them aren't, mottling his skin with various shades of blue and green and yellow.

They're the only thing on his body Arthur doesn't like the sight of.

"The sooner you start cooperating, the easier this will be on you," Arthur says, reaching out to stroke the subject's hair, uncaring of the way he recoils from the touch. He should be used to it by now.

And yet when Arthur's fingers trail down to his cheekbone, the subject flinches so harshly that he bangs his head into the metal examination table he's lying upon.

Arthur sighs. So much for cooperation.

"What are you going to do to me?" the subject asks hoarsely when he sees Arthur reaching for a bottle—not the tranquiliser, no. It's something much, _much_ better. It opens with a soft click, and Arthur tilts it to run a steady stream of lubricant over his right hand. He can feel the coolness of it despite the gloves he's wearing

Arthur walks over to the shorter end of the table, until he's standing right between the subject's spread legs. It's almost as though he realises what Arthur is about to do, because he starts shaking his head from side to side, muscles tensing in a fierce struggle to get out of the restraints and away from Arthur's questing fingers.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Arthur says, placing what he hopes is a calming hand on the subject's thigh.

"Please," the subject begs, _whimpers_. "Please don't do this. Please. _Please_. Not _this_."

He looks so panicked, the poor thing, and there's no reason at all for it. Arthur meant it when he said that he wouldn't be hurting him. That's not the point of today's exercise, not at all. It's rather the opposite.

"I promise it won't hurt," Arthur says, pressing his lubricated index finger against the tight clench of the subject's hole. "Now stop struggling before you scrape your skin raw against the restraints."

"Please," the subject tosses his head back with one last, bitten-off whimper. His eyes are shut, mouth pinched and twisted, and there's wetness trailing down his temple.

But no golden tint.

With a soft sigh, Arthur pushes forward, sinking his finger past the ring of muscle. It's been so long since he's done this to anyone, since he experienced such tightness and heat wrapping around him. It's intoxicating, making Arthur wish that he could take this further, much further than he intends to.

"No, no no nonononono _no_ ," the subject cries out just as Arthur's finger slides inside him right up to the knuckle. Arthur twists it a bit, pulls it out and thrusts it back in, searching for something that—

Arthur knows he's found it when the subject's eyes shoot open and his hands clench into fists. He looks down at Arthur in undisguised horror, biting down on his lip so much that the sharp tip of one of his teeth cuts through it—yet _another_ injury Arthur will have to patch up later. It's annoying how uncooperative he's being. To punish him, Arthur takes his finger out and comes back with two, pushing them up inside his arse with sharp jabs that must be just _this_ side of painful.

He can't fight down the smile that rises to his face when he sees the subject's cock begin to fill, the foreskin slowly but steadily pulling back to expose the swollen glans. The subject— _Merlin_ , because Arthur might as well call him by his name in the process of something so intimate—cries out loudly when he realises his own body is betraying him, finding pleasure in this act he wants no part of.

The look on his face, the sight of his cock standing at attention—it's all the incentive Arthur needs to add another finger, to stretch and twist and thrust, to fill Merlin up as much as he can, to bring him as much pleasure as he can, in the hopes that the results he expects are forthcoming.

And they are. The next time Arthur's fingers brush against his prostate, Merlin's hips hitch and his eyes shine a muted gold. It's close to what Arthur is looking for, but it's not enough. He needs more than this... this... this cheap yellowing of the irises. He needs Merlin's eyes to turn _gold_ —that same shade they were when he brought down the building in the square, the same shade as when he opened the skies and brought down thunder that threatened to smite anyone who dared to approach him.

Arthur is on the right track, that much he is certain of; that much he has just _confirmed_. He just needs to take this a step further: maybe he can stroke a hand over Merlin's hard cock, maybe toy with his balls, maybe add another finger to his hole, force it to take the stretch, open him up _really_ wide.

That last thought really _is_ a rather good idea. Arthur pulls his fingers out of Merlin's body and reaches for the bottle of lubricant. He spreads it all over his hand; there's so much that some of it runs down his wrist and is absorbed by the sleeve of his lab coat.

When he thrusts his fingers back inside Merlin's hole, he's rewarded with a harsh sob and tears.

"It'll all be over soon," Arthur tries to placate him, caressing one trembling thigh with his hand. Merlin doesn't so much as glance in his direction, opting to keep his eyes shut tightly, almost as though he's under the impression that whatever is happening to him isn't real as long as he can't see it.

It won't be hard to cure him of that misconception.

A third finger soon joins the others, shortly followed by a fourth. Merlin tries hitching his hips away from the intrusion, but soon, Arthur has half of his hand tucked up inside Merlin, filling him to the brim.

"S-stop," Merlin whines, his breath and the entirety of his body trembling. "Stop. _Stop_."

Arthur doesn't. Tucking his thumb into his palm, he pushes forward as hard as he can, not stopping until the entirety of his hand has been swallowed up by Merlin's hole. Merlin's screams are like music to his ears.

"Relax," Arthur says, momentarily stilling his movements to let Merlin adjust to the intrusion. "It'll feel good, you'll see."

He waits patiently for Merlin's breath to stop hiccupping, for some of the trembling to cease. It's not until Merlin's gold-tinted eyes reopen that Arthur curls his hand into a fist and starts moving it back and forth, keeping his movements gentle. Merlin's cock is soft, lying against his thigh. With his free hand, Arthur reaches for it, enfolding it in his grip. He starts stroking it in synchronisation with the movements of his fist.

It's not long before Merlin's cock grows hard again, before precome to start dribbling from its tip. Merlin's whines and whimpers slowly turn into moans, and only then does Arthur allow himself to quicken his movements, to thrust his fist inside Merlin more roughly, making sure his knuckles never fail to brush up against Merlin's prostate.

When Merlin finally comes, it's explosive—and Arthur means that in the most literal of ways. His eyes turn such a bright, molten shade of gold that Arthur has to look away for fear of being blinded. The small glass bottle of tranquilliser shatters into a million pieces that shoot off into the room, some embedding themselves in Arthur's lab coat, coming frighteningly close to puncturing his skin.

Arthur waits for Merlin's shudders to subside before carefully pulling his hand out; Merlin hisses at the feeling, his spent cock twitching. Arthur gives it another stroke for good measure before retreating to fetch a washcloth to clean the spend from Merlin's body; it takes almost more strength than he has not to pull his own cock out of his trousers and add to the mess.

There will be time for that in the future, should these experiments continue. Arthur, for one, has no intention of stopping them anytime soon.

Merlin glares at him, the tears making his eyes shine all the more. He deserves a moment to himself to catch his breath after all that. Feeling uncharacteristically generous, Arthur turns away from Merlin and discards his gloves, reaching for his clipboard and pen. He needs to note down his observations before he forgets them.

_Subject expresses magic in response to sexual stimulation_ , he notes down, making sure to write how far, exactly, the stimulation went. _Further testing required to determine strength of reaction in regards to type of stimulation._

When Arthur puts his clipboard back on the table, Merlin is glaring at him again, his fists clenched tightly at his sides once again.

"Are we done?" he spits out, unable to look Arthur in the eye. "Or are there more _tests_ you have to run?"

"Well," Arthur says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I suppose that depends entirely upon you."

Merlin, like all the other sorcerers they've had traipse through here, won't be around forever. Arthur plans to enjoy him while he lasts.


End file.
